


Cherry Blossoms

by nebulein



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alec is anything but, Established Relationship, Hot Weather, M/M, Magnus Bane is entirely too coherent, Oral Sex, POV Alec Lightwood, Poetry, Summer, dusted off from the archives, heat fried brain, seriously there's snow outside my window right now, why am I posting this in winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 09:23:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17363369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nebulein/pseuds/nebulein
Summary: "I want to do to you what spring does to the cherry trees," Magnus murmurs, nipping at Alec's jaw.It's warm, too warm to think, but not too warm to have Magnus pressed against him, pressing Alec against the smooth leather back of the couch, legs on either side of him.Alec stares at the ceiling, stupefied, hands stilling on Magnus' hips. "Make me sprout tiny pink blossoms?"





	Cherry Blossoms

**Author's Note:**

> I've been trying to get back in the writing groove, which unfortunately's proven quite the struggle, but whilst digging through my drafts folder I came across this one and figured I never posted it. So here, have one from the archives.

"I want to do to you what spring does to the cherry trees," Magnus murmurs, nipping at Alec's jaw.

The late afternoon sun is spilling in through the open balcony doors, bringing with it the muted sounds from the city below. In theory, the doors are open to let in a gentle breeze, but even the wind got lazy, doing barely more than idly stirring the curtains. It's the end of August, and summer is determined to show them all one last time who's boss.

It's warm, too warm to think, but not too warm to have Magnus pressed against him, pressing Alec against the smooth leather back of the couch, legs on either side of him. Everything feels kind of hazy, like the world is molasses, sticky and sweet. Even time seems to stretch like a piece of bubblegum, becoming chewy and warped until it's lost all meaning.

There's a bead of sweat gathering in the small of Alec's back, a tickling itch, from the heat or Magnus’ presence, it's impossible to tell. He shifts, until it drips and rolls down his skin. Alec sighs in relief. 

There was something else, though. Something nags at him, a sort of mental itch, something that warrants Alec's attention. If only he could remember. Something Magnus did or said...

_What spring does to the cherry trees._

Right.

Wait. What?

Alec stares at the ceiling, stupefied, hands stilling on Magnus' hips. "Make me sprout tiny pink blossoms?"

There's a chuckle and Alec feels more than sees the shake of Magnus’ head, his spiked up hair tickling against Alec’s throat. Alec knows exactly what look Magnus is wearing right now, the quirk of his lips and the crinkle around his eyes. He’s gotten quite used to Magnus’ amused sort of fondness when he thinks Alec is being stupid and adorable at the same time. He’d fight it, but Alec can’t find the energy. There are worse ways to be regarded.

"It's poetry, Alec."

"It's stupid. What does that even mean?" Alec's tongue feels thick in his mouth, his brain like cotton. Everything is kind of fuzzy, inconsequential, everything but Magnus that is. Alec doesn't want to talk, to think, he wants to sink into Magnus and feel those hips shift against his own.

And then Alec can feel Magnus' lips at his jugular, tracing a path down his neck that makes him shiver more than the words whispered against his skin.

"It means I want to caress you with my warm breath and see you sway and shiver in the breeze. I want to make you feel young and hopeful again."

Magnus' voice is dark and rough, like the bark of a tree. The buttons of Alec's shirt slip through their holes effortlessly under Magnus' fingers. Every new inch of skin is revered with a happy sigh, a kiss or caress.

"I want to kiss you like the sun and have you arch towards my touch," mouthed against a quickly hardening nipple. Alec obliges with a groan, pressing closer against Magnus’ lips. Magnus answers the silent plea, sucking on it, tracing his tongue over and around in a way that makes sparks zing down Alec’s spine, pooling straight in his groin.

Everything becomes kind of fractured, Magnus’ words snaking across Alec’s skin, bright spots in a world that’s become increasingly fuzzy.

"I want to thaw that ice in your veins," whispered to the rune on Alec's flank, "and make you feel hot from in the inside out," tongue lapping at his hip bone, "I want to draw out your secrets," belt hitting the floor, "and show the whole world how beautiful you are," the snick of zipper teeth parting their way.

"I want to wake you from your slumber," dark nails disappearing into the fold of his pants, "and make you come alive."

"Fuck," Alec whispers, as his hands steal themselves into Magnus' hair, the silky feeling of those dark locks between his fingers intimately familiar as Magnus bows his head and makes all his promises come true.

The late afternoon sun is spilling in through the open balcony doors, curtains gently stirring in the breeze, and the loft is filled with the wet, slick sounds, the hums and gasps of abandon, filthy like the streets of New York. It's warm, too warm to think, but not too warm to have Magnus pressed against him, arm across his stomach pressing Alec into the seat of the couch, making his skin stick to the smooth leather. Everything feels kind of hazy, like the world is molasses, sticky and sweet.

Alec closes his eyes, hips bucking into Magnus’ mouth, and thinks of spring.


End file.
